


Within a Blink (It Changes)

by rabidchild67



Category: White Collar
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 04:33:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being in a threesome has its ups and downs. Poor Neal is suffering from a case of the downs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Within a Blink (It Changes)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sahiya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/gifts).



> Title is borrowed from a lyric in the song, “Monday Morning” by Death Cab for Cutie.

“Will you show me? Show me!” Elizabeth Burke grasped Neal’s wrists with both her hands and shook them up and down excitedly like a schoolgirl. He’d just turned a piece of her office stationery into an origami water lily, and her eyes were so bright and eager, he felt an uncontrollable urge to kiss her. 

So he did.

“Oh, mmmm,” she said appreciatively as they parted, but then looked around her office surreptitiously. “Good thing Yvonne’s at a client’s,” she said. Neal was spending the afternoon helping out around El’s office while Peter went to his dentist, whose office was nearby; it being a Saturday, he could think of nothing he’d rather do than spend some alone time with her, even if she was supposed to be working on an important proposal.

“Don’t want her to know about your dirty little secret?” he kidded.

“Don’t want her to think she gets to share!” Elizabeth countered, kissing him once more. “Now, show me!” she ordered playfully, so Neal picked up a second piece of stationery and began to demonstrate. He didn’t miss the look of relief that passed over her face, or the unease, and chose to ignore it; he supposed explaining their closeness was not a conversation he particularly wanted to have with a virtual stranger, either.

Five minutes later, her laptop began to _bleep_ and bloop, signifying an incoming Skype call. She crossed over to her desk, saw who it was, and rolled her eyes. “It’s my _mother_ ,” she said, whispering the last word. She sat down. “Do you mind? You know?” She mimed zipping her lips as she looked at him meaningfully, and he pressed his lips together as she accepted the call. He wasn’t going to alert her mother to the fact she was alone with a man not her husband – again, too many questions that they probably should not face.

“Hi, Mom.”

“ELLIE? CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

“Yes, Mom, and I can see you too. You don’t have to shout.”

“ARE YOU BUSY? YOU’RE TOO BUSY. I’LL CALL YOU LATER.”

“It’s OK, Mom, what’s up?”

“WELL, YOUR FATHER WANTED ME TO CALL AND ASK ABOUT THANKSGIVING, HONEY. WHAT ARE YOU AND PETER DOING THIS YEAR?”

Her eyes met Neal’s over the top of the laptop briefly; they’d made half a plan to spend the entire weekend in the city, going to the parade before heading back to Neal’s for turkey and sexy times, not necessarily in that order.

“We thought we’d keep it local this year, Mom. Peter’s got a big case.”

“PETER’S ALWAYS GOT A BIG CASE. YOU KNOW, YOUR BROTHER’LL BE IN TOWN THAT WHOLE WEEKEND, WITH THE KIDS. YOU HAVEN’T EVEN SEEN THE NEW BABY.”

“I know, but –“

“AND YOUR DAD ORDERED AN HEIRLOOM TURKEY FROM THAT MAN UP AT THE FARMER’S MARKET. I DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT IS, BUT IT’S GOT TO BE SPECIAL – IT’S HEIRLOOM!”

“I’m sure it is, but –“

“AND YOU KNOW, HONEY, YOUR GRANDMA MARGARET CAN’T HAVE TOO MANY THANKSGIVINGS LEFT IN HER.”

El closed her eyes and Neal flinched, feeling for her. 

“Mom, has Dad spoken to you about the guilt trips? I’m sure he wouldn’t find it a valid way of negotiating with people.” 

El’s Dad, the psychiatrist, probably would not approve, Neal thought.

“SO CAN I COUNT ON YOU TWO TO BE HERE FOR THE HOLIDAY?” Mrs. Mitchell continued, ignoring her daughter. 

“I’ll speak to Peter,” Elizabeth said, shoulders sagging, and Neal knew it was a lost cause. So much for trying out that new cranberry sauce recipe, he thought.

Neal kept his eyes down to hide his disappointment as El finished her conversation with her mother. He didn’t know what he was expecting, really. His relationship with the Burkes was pretty new, after all. When Peter had brought him home after the Cape Verde mess and had gotten his old deal reinstated, the three of them had been nearly inseparable. His absence had made them all realize that they were – and could be – more than just friends, and they’d fallen into a relationship that was neither committed nor casual, but rode that fine line in between where Neal tended to feel comfortable. But the holidays were traditionally lonely for him, and having real plans with them had clearly meant more to him than he’d thought.

“Aw, honey, I’m not sure we can wiggle out of this one,” El said to him as she ended her call with her mother.

“It’s your family, Elizabeth,” he pointed out, at least sounding like he meant it, then dropped the subject.

\----

Hours later, Neal and Elizabeth met Peter across town for dinner. As they approached the door, Neal held it open for the two of them, so they were a step ahead of him as they entered.

“Signor Burke! And the lovely Signora Burke! How wonderful to see our favorite couple! Mwah! Mwah!” The maitre d’ at Donatella’s greeted his best customers with effusiveness borne of an expectation of a large tip, and gave El a kiss on both cheeks.

“So lovely to see you, Giacomo,” Elizabeth said with a laugh as the man went for a third kiss.

“I have your usual table right over here!” Giacomo said and led them to an intimate table for two beside the small fountain that dominated the center of the restaurant.

“Oh, Jock, we’re three tonight,” Peter said, glancing at Neal apologetically.

“I am so terribly sorry, sir!” Giacomo exclaimed. “I did not see you there. But the Burkes, they usually come alone. Come! Come!” He led them to a nearby table that could accommodate them all. 

Neal tried not to feel like a third wheel as the wait staff, many of whom knew Peter and El well enough to come and say hello, beamed collectively in their direction and gave Neal odd looks, wondering, no doubt, what the hell he was doing there. His sense of alienation was not relieved by the course the dinner conversation took.

“Hon, I’m telling you, we need to get the vinyl siding, not just slap a coat of paint on the house!” El was saying.

“And I’m telling you, _hon,_ that you are getting no argument from me, but we can’t afford to have the whole house re-sided, not this year.”

They went on about things similarly domestic while Neal tried not to feel like a fly on the wall rather than a participant in this evening, nor be reminded that he had no home to fix up or argue with anyone over. It didn’t help at all that he could feel the beginnings of a migraine coming on, his head beginning to pound and throb in time to the sounds of the vaguely Italian-sounding Muzak being piped into the restaurant. All of it combined to make him feel equal parts moody and self-pitiful, so that by the time Elizabeth said, 

“Neal? Honey, you’ve been so quiet, is everything OK?”

He was very much tempted to respond, “No. Not at all.”

What he did say was, “I dunno, I think I’m going to head home.”

“You sure?” Peter asked, looking very disappointed. “I thought we could get some of the Tiramisu to go. For three.”

Neal managed enough energy for a wan smile, but fell short of being able to make it seem genuine. “I’m a little tired, and my head aches. I think I’ll get some fresh air, head home.”

“Oh, my poor baby,” El said, reaching out with a hand towards his face, but pulling it back as she noticed Giacomo approaching, leading another party to a nearby table. 

Their eyes met, and though El’s were filled with compassion, he saw in them a touch of shame, and suddenly knew he needed to get out of there. He stood, Peter following suit.

“At least let us drop you home,” Peter said. 

“It’s out of your way.”

“You’re never out of our way,” Peter replied in a low tone, and Neal would’ve let it make him feel better if he were in a better frame of mind. As it was, he was feeling childishly sorry for himself and thought being alone would be the best way to wallow in it.

“It looks like it’s going to rain,” El pointed out.

“The weather man only said a chance,” Neal said, and reached for his hat. He tried and failed not to resent the fact he hadn’t gotten a kiss goodnight – he’d chide himself for his silliness later – and left the restaurant in a hurry. 

The cold air outside was bracing and helped to clear his head, but soon enough he regretted not bringing an overcoat along – he had planned to drive with the Burkes and then go to Brooklyn with them, after all. He turned his collar up and shoved his hands in his pockets as he headed uptown. He hadn’t gotten more than ten blocks before a chilly drizzle started to fall, and he was soaked through by the time he rounded the corner on Riverside and saw June’s house looming out of the fog. 

By the time he got to his apartment, he was sniffling, and just stripped out of his clothes where he stood, climbing under the heavy comforter in his bed completely naked. He meant to get warmed up then maybe have a shower, but he fell asleep instead.

xXxXxXx

Peter sat in bed reading the latest James Patterson on his Kindle when a sigh from his wife across the room got his attention. It was her something’s-bothering-me sigh, though thankfully not the something’s-bothering-me-and-it’s-something-you-did one, so he was concerned but not panicked. “Hon?” he prompted, setting his book down on the bed.

She emerged from their closet and came to sit on the foot of the bed. “Did you think Neal was weird tonight?”

“He was a little quiet, maybe,” Peter said after some thought. “But he said he had a headache.”

“I suppose, but I mean…” She stared at the ceiling for a moment. “I’ve just been getting a… vibe from him… that he’s not all that… comfortable,” she said haltingly.

“Comfortable with what?”

“With us, with our relationship.”

“Well, it is kind of new – for all of us.” 

“I know… but… this afternoon…”

It was unlike her to beat around the bush, so Peter took her hand. “What happened, hon?”

“My mother called,” she said and Peter tried not to roll his eyes. “And, well, I didn’t want her to know Neal was there, so I asked him to stay quiet.”

“Why wouldn’t you want her to know he was there?”

“I don’t think she needs to hear about the turn our love life has taken, Peter.”

“I’m not saying you tell her, but it’s not exactly unusual for Neal to be around.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? Your ex-convict CI, hanging out with me on a Saturday? You don’t think that’d get her suspicious mind going?”

Peter reflected and decided that no, that was unlikely; El’s mother was as shrewd as they came, and El had never been able to lie to her. “I suppose you’re right.”

“But I hated it,” she continued, “hated denying him, like he’s a dirty secret or something. I don’t ever want to make him feel that way, and I think I did.”

“You didn’t mean to.”

“It doesn’t make it better. And then tonight, at dinner, I wanted to touch him, hold his hand, but I couldn’t. I felt like a hypocrite.”

Peter felt his own ears begin to heat up. So had he – but he’d restrained himself, thinking it inappropriate. 

“I mean, how can I say that I love him when I can’t even acknowledge what we have in public in even the tiniest of ways?”

Peter felt his guilt suddenly lessen, at least temporarily, at her words. “El, you just said –“

“That I love him? Well, of course I do, just as much as you do.”

“Uh…” Peter had not been able to put words to the depth of his feelings for Neal, worried that his wife would feel neglected or jealous, and he had promised himself he’d never allow that to occur. The relief he felt almost obliterated the guilt he’d had over neglecting Neal in public.

El reached over and squeezed his knee. “I know you play for keeps, Peter, I’ve always known,” she said in a low voice. “Did you think if I couldn’t handle you loving another person as much as me we’d even be having this conversation?”

“I suppose not,” he agreed, the warmth he felt now decidedly not due to his guilty conscience. But: back to the matter at hand. “We have to fix this, El. I don’t ever want Neal to think we’re ashamed of him, or that this is some casual thing.”

“I know, hon, but what if he does? I like having him in our lives – I don’t want to chase him away before we’ve even begun.”

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Peter resolved. “Tell him how we feel.”

El beamed at him. “Maybe invite him over – maybe he can spend the night,” she prompted, a sly look on her face that he just had to kiss right off.

xXxXxXx

Neal wasn’t sure if it was the splitting migraine or the sore throat that woke him early the next morning, but it sure was the hacking cough that kept him up. “What. The. Fuck?” he protested, rolling out of bed and just resting on his haunches on the floor for a few seconds. Looking down on himself, he recalled having fallen asleep completely naked, and reached for the robe that hung on the rack beside the bed. Pulling it on, he padded to the bathroom and back, casting a rueful glance at his kitchenette and wondering if he had the energy to make himself breakfast. The queasy feeling in his stomach made his decision for him and he merely put the kettle on for some tea. He took it with him to the couch and curled up at one end, wondering if he could get away with staying there the entire day.

He was awakened with a start some time later by a knock at his door. He sat forward and grabbed his phone from the coffee table – it was nearly noon. “Jesus,” he muttered, wincing at the scratchiness in his throat. Whoever-it-was knocked again. Neal swallowed painfully and tried to call out, “Who is it?” but it was more like a croak.

The door opened and in stepped Sara Ellis, looking radiant in a brightly-colored jacket, her hair tied back with a scarf. “What was that?” she asked, and stopped in her tracks as she caught sight of Neal. “You look like hell,” she told him, like it was news.

“Thanks,” he rasped, then sank back into his couch. “We were supposed to have brunch, weren’t we?”

He was happy to see her, happier still that they’d been able to remain friends after the fiasco that had been their relationship, because he really liked her. Since he came back from Cape Verde, he’d fallen into the relationship with Peter and Elizabeth, but it was nice to have a friend to call his own that didn’t live in a storage unit downtown.

“We can reschedule,” she said, walking toward him with a concerned look on her face. She sat down on the opposite corner of the couch, reached forward and felt his forehead with the back of a cool hand. “No fever,” she pronounced. “At least that’s something.”

“Must just be a cold,” he agreed. “I walked home in the rain last night.

She made the appropriate sympathetic noises. “I should go then, let you suffer in silence,” she said, knowing him well enough to realize he’d rather hole up until he felt better. “I’ll check in on you later, OK?”

He nodded and tried to look less pathetic than he suspected he did, watching her go. 

Neal got up and went to take a shower, emerging some time later barefoot, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and found an old can of soup in his cupboard for his lunch. Once it was gone and the dishes were cleaned up, he set himself up on the couch for the afternoon, settling in with a Godfather marathon for about an hour before his phone rang. It was Peter.

“Hey,” he said when Neal answered. “You OK? You sound awful.”

“It’s just a cold,” Neal said. “Guess that’s what that headache was all about last night.”

“You want me to come over?”

Neal very much wanted him to come over, but Sara said she’d be by later in the afternoon, and mindful of the fact that no one was supposed to know about the relationship between him and the Burkes, he thought it better if Peter wasn’t seen alone with him on a day when they weren’t working. Besides: “I’m probably seriously contagious and you’ll only catch what I’ve got,” he said to Peter.

“I don’t like it,” Peter said, and Neal smiled slightly at the pout in his voice.

“You don’t have to like it,” Neal reminded him. “How do you think I’d feel if I got you and El sick?”

“Fine,” Peter said sulkily, “I’ll agree with you only because you’re right. But I worry about you.”

“It is nice to be worried about, but Sara already said she’d come over with supplies later,” Neal said, wanting to reassure Peter. 

“Sara did, huh?” 

“You’re not jealous, are you?”

“No. It’s just that she gets to see you and I don’t, so…”

“That’s cute, Peter, but she’s already been exposed to my dread disease.”

“Fine. Well, I’ll let you go – feel better.”

“’bye.”

Neal rang off, feeling slightly better for having heard the concern and caring in Peter’s voice; his self-doubts about the state of their relationship still niggled at him, but, in the bright light of an early November afternoon, they seemed a lot less imposing than they had the night before. He resolved to have a serious talk with the Burkes about what exactly it was they all expected out of this relationship, as soon as he had the chance to speak with them. When he felt better. 

\----

He did not feel better the next morning; in fact he felt about five times worse. As soon as he woke, he suspected he had a low-grade fever – a fact that was confirmed by use of the thermometer Sara had brought him the night before. In addition to that, she’d brought him a treasure trove of sick supplies, including cough and throat lozenges, Tylenol, tissues, juice, more soup, and a booklet of Sudoku puzzles to keep him occupied. She’d also brought a light dinner of Japanese udon in broth for him and sushi for herself, and they’d shared it on his couch, watching Michael Corleone tell Fredo that he’d broken his heart. 

When he got out of bed, he felt slightly dizzy. There was no way he was making it to work today. 

“Peter?” he said into the phone when his call had gone through.

“You’re still sick,” Peter guessed.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to come in,” Neal said. “I think it’s more like the flu than a cold, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry – just take care of yourself, drink lots of fluids or something, and stay in bed. I’ll call you later, OK?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Neal then made himself some tea, lay down on the couch, and was asleep before Kelly Ripa came on.

\----

“You look like one of those Russian nesting dolls that’s been knocked over,” Sara quipped the moment she walked in, taking in Neal's pitiful state. He lay curled up at one end of the couch with his knees against his chest, covered from head-to-toe in a pair of throw blankets – the last one slung over his head and held together under his chin by his clenched fists.

“Not funny,” he said through gritted teeth in a desperate attempt to hide the fact of his shivering.

She made the appropriate sympathetic noises and offered to make him tea. “Maybe you should head to bed,” she suggested as she put the kettle on and then came back to him on the couch wielding a thermometer. “Have you taken any Tylenol?” 

He opened his mouth to accept the thermometer and shook his head. “Aren’t you supposed to let a fever run its course?” he said around it.

She shrugged. “Whatever you like – me, I’m a big wuss, and I’ll take anything that’ll make me feel better.”

“I just think they’re not smart on an empty stomach, maybe.”

“Haven’t you eaten?”

He shook his head, “Too dizzy.” 

The thermometer dinged and she took it out of his mouth. “101,” she pronounced, frowning. “That’s not good.”

“But it’s not too bad, is it?”

“Nothing to be concerned about,” she assured him, then went to make him dry toast to go with the tea. 

He couldn’t sit up long enough to do more than take a sip or two of the tea and the toast sat untouched on the plate beside him on the couch cushion. He was listing practically sideways when Sara paused in putting her coat back on – she’d just stopped by to check in on him for a minute.

“You really are pitiful when you’re sick,” she observed.

“I have no control over it.”

“You’re also adorable,” she added, playing with the tuft of his hair that stuck out from under the blanket.

“Now I know you’re lying.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone – you want me to hang out with you for a little while?”

Neal coughed into his blanket-wrapped hand. “You wouldn’t mind?”

She shook her head and set her coat aside. “I don’t mind. Besides, I don’t have any meetings or anything this afternoon – what else are friends for?”

Neal would have smiled if he had the energy, and he was grateful not to be all alone anymore.

xXxXxXx

Peter headed down the stairs from his office at the stroke of 5:00, pulling his coat on.

“Taking a half day?” Diana quipped as he passed her desk.

He smiled. “Nah, I’m going to check on Neal. If he’s feeling bad enough to take off work, it must be pretty bad.” 

Despite the need to keep their relationship a secret, especially at work, Peter thought it perfectly acceptable for him to go to Neal's to check on him – it was something he’d have done before they became involved, he told himself, and thought it shouldn’t raise too many eyebrows now.

Diana scrunched her nose. “Don’t you get infected and bring it back with you,” she said.

“I’ll be sure to breathe all over you if I do,” he quipped. “Night, Di.”

“Night, Boss.”

He stopped by Neal's favorite deli and got him some soup and fresh bread before getting into the Taurus to head uptown. When he arrived, the apartment was lit only by the television and the lamp beside the bed, where he saw Sara sitting beside Neal – hovering, actually, she was hovering – holding his hand. Neal wasn’t moving, though Peter couldn’t tell what he was doing, because he couldn’t even see Neal’s head amidst all the pillows, much less his face.

A stab of jealousy and possessiveness so sharp it actually caused him pain went through Peter at the sight of Neal's ex taking care of him. He stood there, motionless, stiff, until the fists his hands had involuntarily curled into made the plastic bag he held crumple, making his presence known.

Sara turned her head and smiled to see him, but put her forefinger to her lips to shush him. She got up and moved to him quietly; Peter noticed she did not wear the expensive high heels that were her trademark – she seemed so petite without them. 

“He finally fell asleep,” she whispered.

“How is he?” 

“I think it’s the flu – he’s got a fever and is achy all over. She looked back at Neal, and when she faced Peter again, she had a fond look on her face. “He’s so cute when he’s like this.”

_Mine!_ Peter wanted to growl at her, but instead he hugged the bag of soup against himself, to keep his hands occupied.

“Oh, is that for Neal?” Sara asked, reaching for the bag. 

There followed a brief tug-of-war over the thing that Peter gave up after a couple of seconds; he shoved his hands into his pockets. “In case he’s hungry,” he added lamely.

“I’ll just put it away, then,” she said, and retreated to the refrigerator. “I’ll tell him you stopped by,” she said to Peter in a way that made him feel… dismissed. 

So he left.

He sat in the car with his hands on the steering wheel at ten o’clock and two o’clock and tried to parse what the hell he’d just seen. 

_Exhibit A:_ Sara was in Neal's apartment.

She was being a good friend and looking in on him, as Neal had mentioned the day before.

But was this not unusual for a woman whose breakup with Neal, while amicable, was nevertheless painful for them both?

_Exhibit B:_ Sara was directly taking care of Neal.

Neal was weakened by his illness, therefore Sara was sticking around to ensure he did not take a turn for the worse.

Sara was necessarily alone with Neal in his apartment when he was in a state of vulnerability such that he would be very grateful to the person who’d helped him out in his hour of need. Such gestures mattered to Neal, more than Peter suspected the man realized, and it would go a long way toward improving Sara’s status in Neal's eyes.

Peter frowned.

_Exhibit C:_ Sara clearly still loved Neal.

Who just randomly took such care of a sick person, risking exposure to the same illness out of the goodness of their hearts, without a clear motive?

Peter ruled out medical professionals since they were paid and parents and other family members since they had a moral obligation. So did close friends. And teachers. 

Peter canceled Exhibit C. 

_Exhibit D:_ Neal's gratitude will push him into Sara’s willing arms.

She clearly still wanted Neal, and this was the time for her to make her move. Peter cursed himself for underestimating the dark horse, and for neglecting to tell Neal his and El’s feelings about him sooner.

_Exhibit E:_ Peter was very jealous.

Well, duh.

He started the car and drove home to Brooklyn where his wife would talk some sense into him.

\----

_RIIIIING!!!_

Peter answered his cell phone after the first ring, willing his heart to calm itself down. Glancing at the clock on the illuminated face of the device, he saw it was 1:07 am. “PtrBrk,” he mumbled into the thing.

“Oh Peter, thank God!” came Sara’s voice down the line. She sounded relieved – relieved yet tense.

Peter sat up in bed immediately and switched on the bedside lamp. “Sara? What happened? Is it Neal?”

“I’m afraid so,” she said, her voice tight with worry. “His fever’s just so high, but he won’t let me take him to the emergency room, not that I could get him down to the car if I tried, and oh, Peter! I was going to call 911, but thought of you first.”

Peter was already out of his bed and looking for some clothes to wear, holding the phone to his ear. 

“What is it, hon?” Elizabeth asked, also now awake and staring at him with eyes that were wide with worry. 

He gestured for her to wait a minute and said, “How high a fever?”

“103?”

“Shit – I’ll be right there.”

“Honey, you’re scaring me,” Elizabeth said to Peter as he grabbed a pair of jeans from a drawer and pulled them over the underwear he’d been sleeping in.

“It’s Neal – his fever’s really high and Sara needs some help.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, Hon, I don’t think that’d be a good idea. Sara’s there – there would be questions.” 

“Goddammit, Peter, this is why we have to be open about this.”

“You’ll get no complaints from me, El, but there’s a third person in this relationship.” He pulled on his shoes and a sweater and dashed from the room.

\----

In contrast to the last time, all of the lights were on at Neal's when Peter arrived. Sara sat beside Neal with a wet washcloth, trying to cool him down. Neal was clad in pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt that was so soaked-through with sweat in places that it was nearly translucent.

“Peter, thank God,” she breathed when he entered. She looked rumpled and exhausted, and like she might run out of steam at any moment. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“No, I’m glad you called.” Peter tossed his coat onto the couch and approached the bed. Neal was lying on his back, his eyes closed but his features animated – he was not asleep. When he did open his eyes, they were bright yet unfocused; his hair was matted down, drenched in sweat as well, and his face was alarmingly pale. “Neal?” 

Neal's eyes flicked over to him. “Shit,” he muttered. Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “Whatever I did, I have proof I didn’t do it, Peter,” Neal assured him.

“You didn’t do anything, buddy,” Peter said in his most soothing voice. “What’s his temperature?” he asked Sara.

“103.5 and climbing,” she said tightly. “These washcloths are getting us nowhere.”

“It’s OK,” Neal said and closed his eyes.

The worry in Sara’s eyes as she looked up at Peter was very plain, as well as what she’d been through tonight; Peter wondered how long Neal had been like this.

“It’s the right idea though,” Peter said encouragingly. “Why don’t you go and run a cool bath – more like lukewarm, really. We’ll be in as soon as I can manage him.”

She nodded and headed for the bathroom as Peter took her place on the bed. The covers were tangled around Neal's lower body and legs, and he set about removing them. He could feel the heat coming off of his lover, as he laid a hand in the middle of his chest. “Neal?”

Neal opened his eyes again and smiled at him. “Peter Burke always finds me,” he said dreamily.

“Yep, I will always find you,” Peter said with as much fondness as conviction. “But listen, Neal, you’re really kinda sick, you know?”

“Feel really bad,” Neal agreed.

“I need to get you to the bathroom, do you think you can make it?”

There was a look of concentration on Neal's face as he considered it. “I can try.”

“That’s good. Now come on, up you get.” Peter took hold of both his elbows and pulled him into a sitting position. When he seemed more or less stable, Peter turned Neal's knees to the side so that his feet were pointed at the floor. He pulled Neal’s left arm over his shoulders and then slid his right arm around his back, pulling Neal in tight as he rose, hauling Neal out of the bed with him.

Neal moaned, his head lolling forward. “Oopsie daisy,” he muttered. 

There was a moment of unsteadiness – their height difference had never seemed so significant before – but Peter adjusted, and Neal's legs seemed to be more or less holding him up.

“Baby steps, all right?” Peter murmured, then took one forward, and so did Neal, on shaky legs, followed by another, and another. Peter now he realized that Neal was trembling, and after the next step, he sagged against Peter’s side. There was no way they were going to make it like this. Turning, Peter braced himself and took a deep breath before lifting Neal in a bridal carry and heading for the doorway as quickly as he could. 

“God, you’re heavy,” he muttered as Neal tightened his arms around him and buried his face against his neck, his breath hot against Peter’s skin. Peter would have paused to enjoy their closeness if the situation weren’t so dire.

Sara had gotten the tub about half filled by the time Peter stepped through the doorway to the bathroom, and scurried quickly out of the way as Peter headed over. He felt his back twinge as he bent over to deposit Neal on the tub’s edge, ignoring it as he took the care to support Neal so he wouldn’t fall in. Neal clutched at his neck and planted a kiss at the base of Peter’s throat, light and fast, but enough for the gratitude in the gesture to make Peter’s heart clench. Peter kept his hands on Neal's waist as he got to his knees, to steady him. “Can you sit there a sec?”

Neal nodded his bowed head.

“Let’s get you out of these, then,” Peter said, pulling Neal’s t-shirt off over the back of his head and then tugging at his pajama bottoms. Finally, Peter eased his arms around Neal's back one last time and eased him into the tub.

Neal's eyes opened wide and he took a sharp breath as his overheated skin touched the water. He clutched at Peter’s shoulders, trying to keep himself above the water, but Peter made a shushing sound and said into his ear, “We’ve got to get your fever down, Neal.” With a little whimper of protest, Neal let himself be guided down, but his muscles were still tensed.

Peter arranged Neal in the tub so that he was submerged as much as possible, then took a hand towel, wet it, and let the water it soaked up course down Neal's neck and chest.

“Is that gonna work?” Sara asked, and Peter almost started – he’d forgotten she was there.

“I hope so,” he said. “My mom had to do it for me once when I was ten. If it doesn’t, we should probably call for an ambulance.”

She nodded tensely and sat down on the toilet. Peter sank down to the floor for comfort, and continued drizzling cool water over Neal, who twitched away from him after nearly each touch, making Peter think his skin must be very sensitive. He laid the towel he was using over Neal's bare chest at last, and grabbed another one, squeezing it over Neal without touching him. This seemed to work better.

“Some ice might be good,” Peter said in a calm voice to Sara, who nodded once and left the room to fetch some. 

Peter turned back to Neal, and was surprised to see he was looking right at him. “Thanks for coming,” Neal said, his voice a little raspy.

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” Peter said.

“Still, it means a lot to me that you came.”

“I came earlier, but you were sleeping.” 

Neal seemed to relax at these words, and a faint smile quirked his lips. “You did?”

Peter nodded. “But Sara was here – she was taking good care of you.”

“She’s a good friend,” Neal said agreeably, and Peter felt suddenly foolish to have been so jealous earlier. He saw no sign of any other feeling than friendship for Sara in Neal's unguarded eyes and open face. He reached up and rested his palm over Neal's cheek, rubbing his cheekbone with his thumb. Neal leaned into the touch and pressed a kiss to the inside of Peter’s wrist. 

The sound of ice sliding around in a bowl behind him alerted Peter to the fact that Sara had returned. He pulled his hand away from Neal as she took another two steps into the room. “Here’s the ice,” she said, her voice higher-pitched than usual. 

“Thank you,” Peter said, taking the bowl from her and pouring some of it into one of the wet towels. He twisted its ends up and held it atop Neal's forehead.

“Cold,” Neal said with a frown, but he didn’t struggle away or flinch. 

“Gotta get that fever down,” Sara told him, and her voice sounded like an accusation.

\----

Neal's fever broke an hour later, thankfully, and Peter calmly got him out of the tub, dried him off and put a bathrobe on him, then led him on shaky legs back to the bed, which now sported fresh bedding thanks to Sara’s thoughtfulness. Once he was settled in, Peter sat beside him and watched as he dropped off into an exhausted sleep, then returned to the bathroom to clean up.

He found Sara already at it, mopping up the water that had sloshed onto the floor when Neal had gotten into the tub. “Thought I’d help,” Peter began, lamely.

“You’ve been a big help. Thank you,” she said, an edge to her voice. “Neal's lucky to have such a great… friend.”

He did not like the emphasis she put on the last word. “Look, Sara, I don’t know what you think you saw, but… it’s not what you think,” he said, knowing how ridiculous that statement sounded.

She stood up taller and he was reminded why she was as good at her job as she was – she could be damned imposing when she wanted to be. “Isn't it? Because what I’m very certain I saw was you appearing to be awfully intimate with a person who is not your wife. Now, it’s not my place to judge you, Peter – though I must say, _I’m pretty disappointed_ – but what I am in a position to do is protect my friend, Neal.

“What the holy hell is going on between you two?”

Peter opened his mouth, but no words came out. How was he supposed to explain that he and his wife had willingly begun an affair with his best friend? And how was he to further explain that he and Elizabeth were ridiculously, head-over-heels in love with Neal? Who would believe it?

In the ensuing silence, Sara’s expression grew more cold and her eyes more stony. “And I hope I don’t need to remind you of the inherent consent issues here? Neal is still technically a prisoner, Peter, and he’s under your control. You’re more than his boss, you’re his handler, and… and…” she seemed to have run out of words, such was her outrage.

Her words did at least push Peter out of his temporary muteness. “Now wait just a minute!” he said, stopping himself from shouting at her, but it was a close thing. “I am _in love_ with that man, and so is Elizabeth. Any relationship we have is _our business,_ but I will have you know it is based on mutual respect and understanding of where we all stand. I would never, _ever_ take advantage of Neal or anyone in that way, and to even suggest it is disgusting.”

Sara’s mouth closed with a click and she looked slightly abashed, but still angry.

“Look, I know you care about him too,” Peter said, breathing through his nose to calm himself. “And I’m sure he appreciates it. But he means too much to me and if anything, Sara, I hope you would believe that I would never hurt anyone I love.”

She relaxed slightly, but still looked charged up. “Fine,” she said after nearly a minute. “Not that I get it, but you are, if nothing else, an honorable man. I apologize for suggesting otherwise.”

“Thank you. And I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but surely you can understand the need to keep all of this a secret.”

“I do.” She walked past him and back down the hall. 

When Peter had picked up all of the towels and dumped them in the hamper, he followed, and found her with her coat and her shoes on, standing near the door. 

“I’d say you’ve got this under control now,” she said and opened the door. “He’s a good man, Peter.”

“I know that better than anyone, Sara.”

She turned to go, but paused. “Just don’t hurt him,” she said over her shoulder, and then left.

“I would die first,” Peter promised after he’d heard the front door click closed.

xXxXxXx

Neal woke feeling weak but at least somewhat close to normal. A quick mental inventory told him he wasn’t quite as feverish as he had been the day before, but he still hurt all over – probably from all the shivering. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and was happy to not experience the dizziness he’d felt the day before; he also realized he was in his bathrobe. Suddenly, memories of what had happened the day before came back to him.

He’d been feverish all day, but as it got worse, he was less aware of it in a way, even though he knew something was horribly wrong. This strange detachment had been frightening. He remembered Sara’s pinched and worried face, he remembered talking to her, but couldn’t recall what was said by either of them. Then, suddenly, Peter was there, and Neal’s sense of relief and of safety because of his presence was almost overwhelming and, in hindsight, sort of humbling. He’d never before really considered how reliant he was on Peter in a crisis and, for the first time, he realized he felt a lot more than just gratitude for the man’s steady presence. He felt fondness, he felt awe, he felt… love.

Before he had time to process that revelation, the man himself made his presence known. 

“You’re up,” Peter said from the doorway to Neal's bathroom.

“You look tired,” Neal observed.

“I feel tired. How do you feel?”

“Much better.” He threw the covers off himself and swung his legs to the floor. When he looked up, Peter had crossed the room to stand beside him.

“You want some help?”

Neal held a hand out, signaling he wasn’t sure but he wanted to be the one to figure it out. When he stood, there was a momentary headrush, but his equilibrium re-exerted itself quickly and he was fine – maybe a little shaky, but it felt more like low blood sugar than anything else. He smiled at Peter as if he’d achieved something great; Peter smiled back, and Neal felt his pride.

“Gotta go take a piss,” Neal said, shattering the mood completely. 

Once in the bathroom, he decided to take advantage of feeling better to take a shower, and when he emerged, dressed in a loose pair of khakis and a sweater, he was exhausted, but at least he was clean. He headed for his couch and sat down heavily, but he was still capable of remaining upright, which he took as a win.

“You want anything?” Peter said, and Neal was surprised to spy him making the bed. “Tea? Toast?”

“Sure.”

Peter made a pot of English Breakfast and sliced three thick pieces off the loaf of rye he’d brought over the day before, setting them into the toaster. After a few minutes, the smell made Neal's stomach growl, which was another good sign of his recovery.

“Shouldn’t you be at the office?” Neal asked, wanting to fill the silence. He didn’t know why he felt so awkward all of a sudden, but it was strange that Peter was here taking care of him, and it would most definitely be noticed at the office.

Peter shrugged. “They can get on fine without me for a few hours. El will be by later to take over.” The toast popped up and Peter spread Neal's with butter and orange marmalade, then poured out a mug of tea – with a dash of cream (not half and half, not milk) and no sugar – and laid it all on the coffee table in front of Neal. 

“Thanks,” Neal said, scooching forward on the couch; he was inordinately pleased that Peter had learned his breakfast preferences. The toast was still hot, the butter nicely melted. Neal inhaled the aroma appreciatively before taking a bite.

“I only made you one piece of toast, but if you want more, just let me know – I’m not usually that hungry when I’m sick,” Peter said awkwardly as he went back to finish making his own breakfast – open-faced peanut butter and jelly sandwiches – out of the other two pieces of toast. Neal thought those smelled good too as he finished his one; Peter sat down at Neal's table.

“So what exactly happened last night?” Neal asked, picking up his tea and wrapping his hands around it. “All I know is you were just _here_ all of a sudden.”

“Sara called – she was worried about you, thought I could help.”

“Well, you sure did,” Neal said with a grateful smile. When Peter lowered his eyes, apparently unable to look at him, Neal suspected something was up. “What _happened_ , Peter?”

“Sara knows.”

“Sara knows?”

“About us. You. And me. And El.”

Neal furrowed his eyebrows. “How’d that come up, exactly?”

“She kinda, sorta, walked in on us – you and me – and maybe I was touching you.”

“You touch everyone,” Neal pointed out.

“There may have been… caressing. And kissing.”

“Ah. What did she say?”

“She thought we were having an affair.”

“You would never cheat on El!”

“That’s what I said! Anyway, she knows what we are now – I don’t think she understands it, but she knows. There’s not much else we can do.”

Neal was thoughtful. “She wouldn’t say anything to anyone – if there’s one thing Sara can do, it’s keep a secret.”

“I don’t want it to be a secret,” Peter muttered into his mug of tea.

“What was that?” Neal's heart kind of skipped a beat at that.

“You heard me. I hate to have to keep this a secret – I see what it’s doing to you, and so does El.”

“She does?” Neal’s voice sounded smaller to him, but the realization that El didn’t look on him as the dirty little secret they’d joked about the other day – and that he had managed to convince himself he was – was a little humbling. How could he have misunderstood her so badly?

Peter rose and came to stand in front of Neal. “We talked about it the other night. Neal, we never, ever want you to feel any less than equal in this relationship. And if we have, either of us, we’re so, so sorry.”

“I confess I was beginning to feel like that – like you were ashamed of having me around.”

Peter got to his knees and winced, but his eyes on Neal’s were earnest. “Look, what we have is beyond what most people would understand, but dealing with it is something we need to discuss together. And it won’t be easy – especially not until after your sentence is up. But if you notice any reluctance on our part, Neal, it’s because we _can’t_ show you how much you mean to us in public, not because we don’t want to. We love you too much to hurt you in any way.”

“You… love me? Really?”

Peter blinked, seeming suddenly unsure of himself. “Um… yes?” he said hopefully.

Neal grinned. “That’s nice.”

“This is maybe the part where you say you love us too.”

“I do. I love you both. Thank you.” Neal reached out and grabbed the front of Peter’s shirt, pulling him forward for a kiss. Peter sucked in a sudden breath and whimpered against Neal’s mouth. “Something wrong?” Neal asked.

“My back,” Peter said, voice tight with pain. “I guess I hurt it last night carrying you around.”

Neal had a sudden flashback to being carried like a baby through his apartment by Peter, and winced. “Yikes. Can you move?”

“I dunno, I dunno,” Peter said, distressed. 

“Can I help?”

“Maybe if I lie down?”

“Sure,” Neal said, getting off the couch to give Peter room on it, and surprised to see Peter already on his hands and knees, trying to get down onto the floor. “OK,” he said, and hovered above Peter, feeling like anything he might do would probably make matters worse. He tugged the coffee table out of the way. Peter was lying flat on his back now, breathing through his mouth like a woman in labor. “Tell me there is _something_ I can do,” Neal begged.

“Call El. She can bring some of the muscle relaxants the doc prescribed the last time this happened.”

Neal nodded and went to find Peter’s cell on the table. “El?” he said when she answered.

“Oh, honey, you’re better? That’s a relief. Why are you calling me on Peter’s phone?”

“He threw his back out. Do you feel like taking care of _two_ pathetic invalids today?”

“Is the pope Catholic? I’ll be there in an hour.” 

Neal couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard her squeal a little in delight before she hung up. 

\----

Thank you for your time.


End file.
